


Lavender Tea for a Good Night's Rest

by CelticxPanda



Series: The City is Contagious [14]
Category: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Adult Turtles (TMNT), And A Goddamn Nap, Crying, Donatello (TMNT) Needs a Hug, F/M, Fluff, Forcing Donatello to Take Care of Himself, Light Angst, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Insert, Sleep Deprivation, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 20:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30145083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticxPanda/pseuds/CelticxPanda
Summary: Meg hasn't seen Donatello in a few days.
Relationships: Donatello (TMNT)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The City is Contagious [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2063859
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Lavender Tea for a Good Night's Rest

Meg hadn’t seen Donatello in a few days. Not since he came in with that weird request for books on mysticism and weaponsmithing. Not since she’d blown him off about the music she was listening to out of embarrassment. Him catching her dancing was one thing. Everyone was bad at dancing unless they, like, studied it or something. And even then that wasn’t always a guarantee. Hell, she studied ballet and tap for a short while and she was as bad at dancing as they came. 

But singing was a weirdly sore subject with her. She loved music, had wanted to be a singer since she was a kid. But she just had no talent for it. That’d been a hard thing to come to terms with as a kid. Sometimes she wondered if she still hadn’t fully accepted the fact she couldn’t even carry a tune. Every character she created had an innate talent for it. Those that didn’t were a marked departure from her usual. It was something her online friends mentioned a lot when she managed to get something written.

She’d gotten so used to absolutely trashing her own voice to excuse her lack of training and talent as a defense mechanism that when Donatello didn’t automatically agree with her about how bad it was, she felt pitied or something. It made her ice him out, something that she regretted pretty quickly after but felt too awkward to address outright. 

And now he was avoiding her. She hoped he hadn’t thought she was just being a music snob or something about it. That was the last thing she wanted to look like. Well, actually, the last thing she wanted to look like was one of the trust fund bastards who rolled through Schyler College on their daddy’s money with no idea how the real world worked. But a music snob was the next worst thing. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of something tumbling over and hitting the floor. She jumped up, worry furrowing her brows. Was that Donatello? There was no way, right? He’d never been that noisy in his life. Was someone actually dangerous breaking in? Meg grabbed her trusty poker from the fireplace and marched towards the noise. 

Fear clawed at her gut as she moved further into the library, hand gripping tight on her makeshift weapon. That fear promptly evaporated, replaced with a whole different kind of worry, when she saw not an intruder, but Donatello sprawled out on the floor.

“Donnie?” Meg called. “Dude, what the fuck? Are you okay?”

Donatello groaned, standing up slowly. “I’m fine. I just didn’t stick the landing as well as I hoped. Slipped and fell.”

Meg stared at him, her grip on the fire poker loosening. “Are you okay, man? You look like shit.”

“Thanks, Meg,” he muttered sarcastically. “It’s genetic.”

That. That hurt more than Meg expected it to. Did he really think, after god knew how many weeks or months, that she would be that kind of cruel? Sure she was argumentative, and she could be mean and sarcastic, but did she really seem like that type of person to him? The implication was enough to make her blood boil. She reached for the nearest shelf, pulling off the first book that she could get her hand around, and chucked it at him.

“Ow!” Donatello yelped as the book missed its mark a bit and bounced off his shoulder instead.

“Bitch, you know I don’t mean the turtle thing!” Meg shouted. She felt the lump that always came before tears grow in her throat. As much as she talked a big game, she was, in fact, probably the biggest cry baby she ever knew. Just about any amount of stress was enough to bring tears to her eyes. Arguments were the worst offenders. “And I’m offended that you think so little of me that you’d even think that’s what I was talking about! C’mon, Donnie, I work with college students. I know sleep deprivation when I see it. How long has it been since you had some shut-eye?” 

Donatello sighed, clearly knowing she was right. “Uh, what day is it?”

“Okay, nuh-uh. I’m cutting you off,” Meg said, putting a firm hand on his shoulder. “No books tonight.”

“Meg, please. This thing I’m studying, it’s important!” Donatello argued weakly. “Like, really, really, important! Like, fate of the city important!”

“Dude, I believe you, but that doesn’t mean a damn thing if you’re dead on your feet. Literally. Did you know you can die from sleep deprivation? There’s a reason that’s one of the main forms of torture people use.” 

“But I can’t...I can’t just sleep! Everyone’s counting on me!”

“Donatello, man. My dude. Sweetest taro pastry in the Taiwanese bakery,” Meg said, shaking him a little. “People can’t count on you when you don’t fucking take care of yourself! I know you haven’t slept in God knows how long, but have you eaten anything lately?”

Donatello opened his mouth.

“Other than coffee.”

Donatello shut his mouth.

“Christ on a cracker, Donnie,” Meg said, sighing tiredly. “Come on, I think I have a poptart or something in my coat pocket. Normally I’m a bit anal about eating in the library, but I’ll make an exception since you’re a favorite.”

“A favorite?” Donnie echoed. “Favorite what?”

“Person,” Meg explained breezily, walking back towards the front desk with the fire poker in hand. “After you eat something, I’m gonna show you to one of the better napping spots. And I swear to god if I check on you and find you fucking reading, I will physically knock you out to make you sleep.” 

Donatello would argue about her ability to knock anyone out, but he’d seen her fight, and had felt the strength her wrath gave her first hand. Well, also because he was still stuck on the whole ‘favorite’ thing. That...that was going to be in the back of his mind for weeks, he just knew it. 

Meg sniffled, rubbing at her eyes with the back of her hand. Even with a lack of sleep, Donatello was observant as all ninja were. Was...was she crying? He’d thought he’d seen the tell-tale signs of tears earlier during their almost-argument, but he hadn’t been sure. 

“Hey, um…”

Meg looked over her shoulder at him. Yep, he could see it now: the wetness at the corner of the eyes that always showed up when someone tried to wipe away tears. 

“I’m sorry. You were just trying to show your concern, and I threw it back in your face. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Meg shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. But also, like, don’t do it again. I shouldn’t have to throw books at my friends, you know?” 

Donatello chuckled. “I should hope that’s not something you make a habit out of.

“Still...I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“Oh, yeah, don’t worry about that either,” Meg said, laughing around another sniffle. “I’m, like, a huge cry baby bitch. Any kind of stress and Boom! Waterworks. Don’t take it personally.” 

That made Donatello pause. “You weren’t crying the other night when that guy tried to assault you.”

Meg smirked at him over her shoulder. “Believe me. Punching out a creep is way less stressful than arguing with a friend.” 

She slipped behind the front desk, casually dropping off the fire poker by the decorative fireplace like she picked it up all the time. Donatello stood awkwardly on the patron’s side of the desk while Meg rifled through her jacket pockets.

“Ha! Found it,” Meg announced, holding up the foil packet with triumph. “Hope you like strawberry.”

“Depends,” Donatello said. “Does it actually taste like strawberry or does it taste like pink?”

Meg grinned, rounding the desk once more to land a friendly punch on Dontello’s arm. “Eyyyy! Look who’s makin’ jokes. But no, this shit doesn’t taste like pink.”

Donatello took the pack of poptarts without complaint. He really hadn’t eaten in a while, at least a day or so. He wondered how Meg knew. Sure she knew how to spot students who’d pulled all nighters on essays, but that wasn’t the same as skipping meals. Was it his irritability? He was usually so good at hiding that. 

“C’mon, man. Walk and eat. And try not to leave any crumbs. They do not vacuum in here as often as they should.”

“Where are we going?” he asked, unwrapping the breakfast pastry as he followed after Meg.

“I told you! Gonna take you to one of the best napping spots on campus,” Meg said, holding up a finger demonstratively. “And you, mister man, are gonna get at least a power nap in. Preferably more, but at this point, I’ll take what I can get.” 

“You sure are putting in a lot of effort to get me to take care of myself,” Donatello observed off-handedly between bites of poptart. Hmmm. Would probably taste better warm.

“I mean, yeah dude,” Meg said. “That’s what friends do. They care about each other. And beat the bare minimum of self care into each other if necessary.”

“Please do not beat me into unconsciousness,” Donatello requested blandly. “I don’t think being unconscious is actually as restful as real sleep.” 

“Probably not.” 

Meg led him deep into the library, into a tucked away nook where an old leather couch sat under a window. There were very few shelves, most of them full of dictionaries older than both of them combined. 

“Here you go! Basically no one comes back here, except the librarians and the aides,” Meg explained, gesturing to the couch. “So you can nap here as long as you need. I’ll be coming through periodically, but I won’t wake you until my shift is over. If you konk out quickly, you’ll probably have at least five-ish hours of sleep. It’s not great, but it’s better than nothing.”

Meg’s smile turned dangerous. “And if I find you trying to read, so help me god, I will beat you into unconsciousness and then drag your almost-corpse back home and tie you to my bed until you get at least twelve hours of sleep.”

Donatello bit back the temptation to say ‘Don’t threaten me with a good time’ and just nodded. He shoved the rest of the poptart he’d been munching on into his mouth and settled himself into the couch. It was, surprisingly, very comfy. 

“Sleep tight, Taro Pastry,” Meg called as she walked away. “Don’t let the bookworms bite.”

Meg wandered back through the shelves about an hour later. At this point, she figured she’d given Donatello enough time to get comfortable enough to either actually sleep or think she wasn’t coming to check on him. If the latter occurred and he’d gotten books, well, he usually left plenty of ammo laying around for her when he researched. 

As she approached, however, she started hearing a soft snoring noise. Poking her head around the shelves, she found Donatello snoozing away, having sunken deep into the cushions of the couch. Meg smiled, breathing a soft sigh of relief. 

And then she pulled out her phone and snapped a quick pic. She still needed a photo for his caller id after all. She chuckled softly, tucking her phone back in her pocket and wandering back through the shelves.

“Sleep tight, Donnie.”

**Author's Note:**

> Meg is the type of friend who will beat basic self care into you if you don't do it yourself. Get you a friend like Meg.


End file.
